


oh my darling clementine

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anger, Fist Fights, Hatemance, Love/Hate, M/M, mmmmm im trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s the warmest days in winter, full of light and promise but entirely wrong and unfitting, and he makes you feel like you’ve worn too many coats for the sunshine.<br/>You’d both come so far from where you were, and here you were again. Competitively you’ve forced each other to grow, rough edges sliding up against one another like sandpaper hipbones that fit nearly just so. You catch your reflection, orange and morose in your cell’s screen, and cast it aside, hoping to toss the surfacing memories with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh my darling clementine

**Author's Note:**

> im hq trash rest in heck me :^))) i hope this is okay waaahhh feel free to leave comments/crit!

He barks at you to stop staring and just answer him already, damnit. Instead of a reply your fists clench and your jaw grits and you struggle to contain the shakes and the tears that rise. “I don’t know,” you want to cry out, but his fist is gripped in your collar and you can feel the sweat of both your uniforms clinging to your skins, he won’t accept that as an answer. Instead, you bark back at him, smaller voice roaring in the small distance between you he steps back in surprise.  
“Fuck you.” Your words have no hesitance and your face shows no unease. Your mouth is curled and your teeth are sharp, your hair drifts in front of your eyes as your head moves. Vaguely, you’re aware of teammates in the background, on edge, waiting for a turning point or an intervention.  
You’re not ready when his fist meets your face. You’re sent choking in surprise, reeling back not hurt so much as surprised he’d done it. He’d hit you.  
Kageyama stands above, looking down, face an unreadable glower of hate, his hand still trembling where it had let go from clenching your shirt. He clicks his tongue and leaves, and you’re left glaring at his shadow and rubbing your palm into the bruise on your face.  
You stalk past team members’ concerns and grab your things, ignoring everything and everyone except for the rain. You hadn’t heard it in the gym, hadn’t known it would rain today, but you don’t mind. It trickles cooling rivulets down your back, plastering the uniform’s ten to your shoulders, making your shakes turn to shivers as your breath heaves against pedals. You just want to leave and leave until you’re breathless.

 

Once in your own bed, you don’t bother drying off, you just strip off the uniform and drop it in the bin to be cleaned, stripping down to boxers and sliding onto your bed to lay belly down. Your chin rests in the crook of your elbow and you watch the rain outside, sick with feelings. You’ve always hated him, but there’s no denying that you’ve always loved him, too. He’s the damn light to your dumbass moth self and you want his damn candle to just go out already.  
You regret it before the thought is even finished. He’s an asset to the team, as much as you are if not more, and to wish someone’s end was hardly upstanding. Your jaw locks together again, and you turn away from the window to watch the cell beside you. It doesn’t blink.  
He doesn’t call. Doesn’t text or email. You never expected him to, but you wished he would.  
He’s the warmest days in winter, full of light and promise but entirely wrong and unfitting, and he makes you feel like you’ve worn too many coats for the sunshine.  
You’d both come so far from where you were, and here you were again. Competitively you’ve forced each other to grow, rough edges sliding up against one another like sandpaper hipbones that fit nearly just so. You catch your reflection, orange and morose in your cell’s screen, and cast it aside, hoping to toss the surfacing memories with it. His jawline covered in morning shadow and marks you’d left the night before, legs tangled together and knotted in sheets. Your stomach rising to your chest as his teeth cover your collar, hands and fingers knotting together like liferafts and anchors. The brunt of his chest shoving you against the wall and your fists on his shoulders, mouths coming together angrily amidst whispered curses and taunts.  
The pillow you reach for comes down squarely over your head, muting the patter of the rain outside in favor of the blood rushing static in your ears.  
You fall asleep to arched shoulders curling around a broken, angry heart.

 

Less than twelve hours pass before the two of you are at it again, groggy and waking to the sunrise of the locker rooms and the taught loneliness of an empty world between nets and balls and cones. Dawn fills through small windows and filters through frosted breaths, where he’s leaning against the wall and holding you close, flush against him. You take bliss in every hitch of breath, every tremble you incite. Your anger bubbles and flows into sucks and bites, his skin between your tongue and lips and his shirt between your fingers.  
Every whisper of “Damn it, Hinata,” or “Fuck’s sake, Shouyou,” is a small victory for you. Standing on your toes you can level nose to nose and you kiss him slow and hard. Everything else between you is fast and hot, but in moments like this you have cold moments of timelessness and intimacy that you take with all the bruises and all the screams.


End file.
